There You'll Be
by pinkswallowsun
Summary: Nikki's thoughts during the taxi journey at the beginning of Bloodlines 2, and her emotions and reactions on Hungary in the aftermath as she and Harry struggle to move on. Four parter.
1. Part 1

**This is part 1 of a new 3 parter I'm working on :) It's sort of a sequel to Nakitsura Ni Hachi and Pandora's Box, as requested by Lilypad1, though you don't have to have read those to read this, it will all still make sense. Sorry it's taken so long! It also ties in with my Lighthouse fics, but again, you don't have to have read them to understand this. This is my attempt at answering some of the questions that seemed to me to be left unanswered post Bloodlines, and providing a happier ending to Nakitsura Ni Hachi and Pandora's box if you've read those. Anyway, let me know what you think, and provided this gets enough reivews I'll try to get the next chapters up soon :)**

**Love Florencia xxx**

**There you'll be**

_**When I think back on these times and the dreams we left behind,**_

_**I'll be glad because I was blessed to get to have you in my life,**_

_**And when I look back on these days I'll look and see your face,**_

_**You were right there for me.**_

You don't know quite how you manage to hold yourself together during the taxi journey, how you manage to stop yourself from breaking down and sobbing, screaming at a god you haven't really believed in for quite some time now to _do something_, to bring him back to life, back home to London, to you, or alternatively to allow you to wake up in a few moments time, back at home in your own bed, for this to have all been a horrible, horrible dream; you're not picky. But no matter how loud or how hard you shriek internally, no matter how desperately you beg, nothing's going to change, and you know that really, deep down. That's why you keep quiet, that's why you manage to stay so composed sat in the back of the taxi, travelling to meet Leo under circumstances you never imagined would exist outside of the realm of your nightmares. Because none of it will make the slightest difference, you learned that lesson almost 20 years ago now. No matter the magnitude of your rage, the one thing you want to change more than anything else in the world is going to stay the same for eternity. Harry Cunningham will still be dead.

You don't know quite how to describe your emotional state at present; you don't think there are adequate words in the English language, or in any other language spoken around the world, for that matter. The most obvious place to start is that you feel as if a part of you has died with him, you suppose, but that sounds too cliché, too desperate clingy wife. You're not Harry Cunningham's wife, you never were, and now you never will be. No one will. You're not even the closest thing he has to one- 'had', not 'has', you realize now that you're going to have to get used to referring to him in the past tense. He had Anna at the end; he went to his grave bound to her by a child, a child who will never leave its mother's womb, never grow up, never experience the world, but a child all the same.

You've often wondered which of you would settle down with a family first, and each time you came to the conclusion that it would be Harry; like anyone was going to want to settle down with you. In a way it became one of your greatest fears, Harry going all domestic on you, Harry with a family… doesn't that make you sound like such a selfish pig? It does, it really does; no wonder no one ever hangs around long enough in your life to start a family, even by accident. But regardless of how selfish that sounds, it was always your worst fear, quite simply because you knew full well that Harry was all you had. And while he was still single, unclaimed, non-preoccupied by a wife, by children, you could almost pretend that he _was_ yours. You could turn up on his doorstep in the middle of the night when you were upset, when yet another date had turned sour and you needed someone to hold you close and tell you it was all going to be alright, you could count on him to look after you when you were ill, to water your pot plants when you were away, to look after your spare key and simply provide you with some company at the weekends, like you didn't see enough of each other at work. And all that would be off the cards in the blink of an eye the moment Harry found someone, had a family; you very much doubt a wife and child would be happy about your turning up unannounced at godforsaken hours in the morning, about Harry disappearing off to yours on a regular basis to keep some loner of a best friend company? You knew you wouldn't be able to have him all to yourself anymore the moment he found his soul mate, and so that was why, as selfish as it was, a small part of you lived in fear of people like Anna. Does that even make any sense? You don't know. But you don't have to worry about all that anymore, you remind yourself bitterly. He's gone, and he's never coming back. You're all alone in the world once more.

But all the same, you can't help but wonder one thing; in your mind, one hugely significant question is left unanswered. Had none of this happened, had Harry and Anna both survived, had Anna been given the chance to tell Harry of her pregnancy, of the innocent new life which tied them together, what would he have done? He wouldn't have turned his back like he did to Penny, you know that much, he was too shaken by that whole experience to ever do it again, too deeply in love with Anna to leave her, too much of his soul longing to settle down after playing happy families with Niall for him to turn his back on the chance of fatherhood, of a family, you know that well. So what would he have done? You never met Anna Sandor, you never knew her, but judging by what you've heard from Harry over the last 2 months she wasn't the sort of person who would be willing to uproot her own life and move to a strange country, start again, even for the man she loved, the father of her child. Her work meant too much of her, and it was a sort of work that there's simply no need for in London, in England. She wouldn't have given that up for anything. And so what would have happened? Would Harry have uprooted and moved away to Budapest, left his old life behind him, left the Lyell Centre, left Leo, left you, for the sake of his family? He would have, you're sure of it. And in a way you don't blame him for that; how could he not? You considered staying in South Africa for Anton, after all, before he was exposed for the lying bastard he really was. And yet somehow it hurts, hugely, to think that Harry would have left you behind, moved on with his life without you, after everything you've been through together. He contemplated leaving for America before, you remind yourself, but that was only a 6 month placement, temporary. And besides, back then you weren't half as close as you are now- were- so it wasn't the same thing. He wouldn't really leave you… would he?

'Of course he would Nikki, don't be stupid,' a sneering voice in the back of your head is telling you. 'Like he was really going to give up his chance of happiness for _you_. You were just his friend, his best friend, true, but what does that matter? Best friends come and go; he'll have had plenty of them before you came along and he'd have found a new one in Budapest, you know he would. He's not like you Nikki, he's outgoing, he's popular, people like him. He'd have got on perfectly well without you, and you know it. Maybe he would have sent you a handful of emails, pictures of the baby, maybe he would have dropped in to see you a couple of times with his new family, passing through London on the way to visit his mother or Leo. But that's as far as it would have gone. He's not clingy and aloof like you are, he probably never needed you in the same way as you needed him, as you still do, not really, especially not since Anna Sandor waltzed into his life. He would have gone away and left you Nikki, face it. Whether he died or not, you were always going to end up alone in the end.'

You stop thinking about it all after a while, because it's not going to help you the slightest bit, and you bloody well know it. That question, the question whose accompanying answer means more to you than the world itself is doomed to remain without a conclusion for infinity, because the only person who can ever answer it for sure is gone forever, leaving a trail of hopelessness and mourning for what was, what should and what could have been in his wake. If you let that question play on your mind for too long then you'll never quite see Harry Cunningham in the same light again, and you refuse to allow your memories of him to become tarnished in your head. You can still see his face so clearly in your mind…

You want to remember him for who he was, Harry Cunningham: the best friend you could ever hope for, someone who made you laugh, who comforted you when you were sad or inconsolable to anyone but him, who was your saving grace on more than one occasion, and don't you just know it. No, he was more than that, you realize as the taxi pulls off of the motorway, the city of Budapest finally coming into view. He's been your life for the past 7 years, a part of you, and for that you'll always be grateful. You remember Martha Manduna, your nanny whilst you were growing up in South Africa, telling you once that God only ever loans us his angels, and that sooner or later we have to give them up no matter how much we love them. You're not convinced that you believe in a god anymore, not after everything that's happened to you this year, but on this subject matter you have to agree. Because it's true. You love him, Harry Cunningham, your angel, your saving grace. And the more you think about it, sat in the back of the taxi and rapidly approaching a destination at which you never, ever want to arrive, the more you realize that you always have.

_**In my dreams I'll always see you soar above the sky,**_

_**In my heart they'll always be a place for you, and for all my life**_

_**I'll keep a part of you with me,**_

_**And everywhere I am, there you'll be.**_

You don't think you can cope with this, not by yourself, as you will inevitably now be. Well, not completely by yourself, you know you'll still have Leo and Janet, but it's not the same. They have each other, just as you selfishly feared that Harry would find someone else, and now that the adoption is back on they'll be a proper family too, sooner or later. They won't be able to be there for you in the way that Harry once was, won't want to, and besides, nobody ever knew you half as well as Harry Cunningham did.

No; you're going to have to deal with it all alone, just as you did when your mother died. You're going to have to ignore that sneering little voice in the back of your mind and pretend like it's all going to be OK, tell yourself that you're not going to be damaged in the same way you were when you lost your mother all those years ago, that you're older now, grown up, that you'll cope perfectly well by yourself. But still you can't shake away the fear that you'll now live the remainder of your days alone, the fear that Harry Cunningham has been a part of your life for so long now that he's become a necessity; that you no longer know how to survive without him.

The last time your life fell apart things panned out very differently, you suddenly realize. The first time around, when your mother died, you were uprooted from everything you had ever known, thrown on a plane to England, and although it didn't feel like it at the time, in a way that was possibly the best thing that could have happened to you under the circumstances. It got you away from everything that could possibly remind you of her, save the shoebox of memories under your bed and the gold dragonfly necklace which still hangs close to your heart. It got you away from the reminders which would have otherwise surrounded you, forced you to start a new life without her, to bury the now-painful memories of wild elephants and braais and Christmases on the beach and begin afresh, in a country with nothing to remind you of her. OK, so it was hell: the school, the pupils, the weather, your father, but you survived. You survived, and the Nikki Alexander who existed before in Cape Town, the Nikki Alexander with a mother, with someone who cared, was gone forever.

But how can you do that now? All the time you're out here in Budapest you're replaying that same scenario, the one you played out when your mother died and your father brought you over to England. Nothing is familiar, nothing reminds you of home, of Harry Cunningham, and so all the while you're out here you're safe. The numbness in your heart will remain a numbness, not an overwhelming pain which leaves you a hysterical wreck, because here, by yourself, you aren't Harry Cunningham's Nikki anymore, you're yet another new, lonely version of yourself.

It's when you go home that the pain will start. Because you're not a child anymore; you're not going to be uprooted and moved on to a place where there are no reminders by somebody else. You're in charge now, and so you're going to have to do this by yourself, call the shots. There will be no overly sympathetic social worker turning up on the doorstep to help you pack your bags and cart you off to the nearest children's home, contact your father in London and drive you to the airport, dump you on a plane headed to a new country, new continent, new hemisphere, a new start. There will be no strange new curriculum and looming exams you weren't expecting to study for to serve as a distraction, no Noel Hopkins the science teacher to come to your rescue when you attempt something stupid. You're going to have to cope alone, surrounded by memories at work, in your apartment, everywhere, reminders of the places you've been together, the nights you spent curled up on your sofa together watching his gruesome war films, the slight imperfection on your kitchen ceiling where he tried to make pancakes one time and got a little too enthusiastic at the tossing stage, the photos which line your walls… you're going to have to take those down for a while, you decide. And at work his spirit will be everywhere you look, haunting you, reminding you that you're all alone once more. God, how the hell are you going to do this? How are you going to continue life without the one person who understood you, who knew you inside out, who… no, you can't think like that. It's too late now, it can never happen, you know that much. You'll never know how perfect things could have been if only you had plucked up the courage to take a chance, to act on the secret feelings you've had for Harry Cunningham for years and prayed to god that he felt the same way too. But it's too late; your chance has gone. Now you'll never know how it truly to be loved, to have a family, to be completely and utterly content with the way your life has gone, and you don't care how melodramatic that sounds. Your life's become such a mess over the past few months that thinking about it, you don't think you've cared about anything but Harry Cunningham in a long, long time. And now he's gone for good, there's nothing left inside your heart, nothing but bleakness and loneliness and fears for a future abandoned and unwanted.

You'll never forget him, you're certain of that. How could you possibly forget him? He'll always be with you wherever you go, impossible to shake free of no matter how hard you try. You know that because you've learned from the mistakes you made when your mother died, learned that trying to move on and pretend it never happened simply doesn't work. You're older and wiser now, more experienced in both life and the ways of the world, and you refuse to make the same mistakes that your naïve 15 year old self once did, a lifetime ago. Sometimes you wish you could turn the clock back and do things differently: keep in contact with your friends from your old school in South Africa, not try so hard to lose your accent, your identity, not let the less-than-welcoming classmates you found yourself stuck with at your new school in Guildford affect you in the way that you did. But you can't. You dread to think what your mother might have thought had she seen the mess you were in without her; you won't let history repeat itself and do the same to Harry, you can't. In a strange sort of way you want to prove to him that you're not weak, that you can cope without him, that you can manage just fine without having someone to curl up with on the sofa after a particularly bad case. Even though you know full well that you can't.

But this isn't about you, you realize as the taxi pulls up outside a tall, distinctly European building, a sickening feeling building in your stomach as you realize what now has to be done. You came out here to Hungary to bring him home, and that's exactly what you're going to do. You won't let them win, the people who… who… who killed him (there, you've said it), you won't give them the satisfaction of taking Harry from you completely. He'll always be with you, in your mind, your memories; sometimes it'll be a comfort and sometimes you'll feel haunted, but that's OK, you don't mind. Wherever you go he'll be with you in some way, you always knew that, but you're starting to wonder if perhaps it doesn't have to be a bad thing. Maybe, just maybe, it can be a comfort, it can make you feel as if you have someone in a world in which you're well and truly alone. It'll have to be. Because nothing is going to bring Harry Cunningham back to you, not ever. And that's something you're simply going to have to accept, to live with. For eternity.


	2. Part 2

**I've cut this chapter in half because it was getting too long, so the other half should be up tomorrow, the more reviews, the earlier in the day :) And thank you to everyone who reviewed the last one: Amy, Emma, Lizzi, Thyqua, Starr123, Izzy and Charlotte88, glad you enjoyed it! I'm not sure about this one and I've rewritten it more times than you would believe, so if it's OK then please let me know! I'm still not convinced I've got it right!**

**I've had a few people asking me via PM about Josi, Harry and Nikki's daughter in my oneshots, whether there would ever be a proper introduction to her, pregnancy, birth, etc. All that has actually already been written in Sunset in South Africa and her character does have a bit of a back story, though one which my oneshots/ short fics can be read without knowing. So if you're interested in reading about how Josi came into Harry and Nikki's lives, then Sunset in South Africa is the place to go :) **

**Love Flossie xxx**

As long as you live, you'll never forget that moment, the moment in which you realized that Harry Cunningham was still alive. You remember arriving at that cemetery with your heart still numb, feeling as if you were walking through a dream world, going through the motions of reality but unable to feel anything, just waiting to wake up and for everything to go back to normal. Except you were never going to wake up, of course; you were doomed to spend the rest of your life alone, without Harry Cunningham, and sooner or later you were going to have to get used to it. Or so you thought.

But then you walked up those steps towards Leo standing in the archway, catching sight of someone else standing behind him, a figure you recognised only too well. And something within you snapped. Since Leo's phone call the day before, that horrible, torturous phone call which just about tore your soul in two, you must have imagined that moment a thousand times over, played out the scenario in your head over and over again as if hoping that if you imagined it hard enough, it might just come true. But you don't think you ever truly believed that, not really; you're a scientist at heart, and scientists know that the world just doesn't work like that. And so when you saw him standing there, the man who meant more to you that you had believed anyone ever could, the man you thought had left you forever, you simply didn't know what to do. Were you hallucinating? Had the whole thing been some kind of sick joke? You didn't know, you didn't want to know, it was too much to take in all at once. And so you ran. You turned on your heel and you ran, not wanting to know if it was merely your imagination, not wanting the small amount of hope now present within your soul to fade. OK, so maybe not the best thing to have done, in hindsight, but you simply didn't know what else to do.

You think you had just about convinced yourself that you were going mad as you began to take the steps two at a time, convinced yourself that you were taking all this even worse than you had thought, that in just 24 hours you had become a complete wreck, imagining things which weren't really there, your mind fighting to bring someone back from the dead simply because you didn't believe you would ever be able to function properly without him. You remember your knees giving way beneath you, stumbling forwards, unable to control yourself anymore, thinking you were going to hit the concrete at any moment. But just as you were about to slam into the ground you felt someone catch you under the arms, pulling you backwards onto their lap, cushioning your fall. You couldn't see his face at that point, just the arms around you, the unfamiliar clothes, but still you knew exactly who it was. Harry Cunningham.

You remember turning around to face him, almost certain your hunch was correct but needing to confirm it, unable to take the anticipation, the suspense, the not knowing whether to breathe a sigh of relief or break down in tears. And the moment you saw his face, felt his arms around you, realized that it really was him, that he was alive, with you, suddenly you were sobbing uncontrollably. It was the rush of emotions; all the pain and fear which had been plaguing your mind during the flight over to Budapest, the taxi journey… all that combined with the relief of realizing that somehow Harry was still alive was overwhelming. You couldn't control yourself, couldn't stop the tears from flowing. All you knew was that you had him back, that perhaps there was a god after all, that maybe, just maybe, it was all going to be OK.

It did all turn out alright, in the end. There were times when you believed it never could, times when you just wanted to curl up and sleep forever, to forget about everything and everyone, but you survived, both of you. You survived, and eventually things began to get better.

You know it took Harry a while to completely get over the events of Hungary, to make peace with himself. He still suffers from the nightmares, you know that, but year after year they have decreased in frequency, that hellish period of his life slowly fading a little in his memory. You still feel guilty about it sometimes, guilty that 'The Budapest Experience', as it has become known, was affecting you in the way that it was. It shouldn't have made such an impact on you, not after all the pain and agony Harry was put through; if anyone had a right to fall to pieces, to feel constantly depressed and over-emotional then it was Harry. But he seemed to deal with it all remarkably well save the insomnia and paranoia; it was you who couldn't cope. Externally you managed to put up a rather convincing front, knowing that Harry needed you to stay strong for him, but internally you were a mess, struggling to hold yourself together. You had your Harry back, you weren't alone anymore, and yet still that dreaded question was preying on your mind, taunting you, refusing to leave you. Would Harry have left you for Budapest, for Anna, for his baby, despite only being a part of that world for a mere 8 weeks? You couldn't bring yourself to ask him, partly because you didn't want to upset him, to bring back bad memories and remind him of all that he'd lost, but partly because you didn't want to know the answer. And so you let time heal the wounds, let life go on without the answer to that dreaded question. You tried to forget. You toyed with the idea of telling Harry how you felt about him, of taking Leo's words about it always being later than you think to heart and risking everything in the hope that Harry Cunningham felt the same way about you as you did about him, as you had for so many years. But you couldn't. The price was too high. And besides, Harry couldn't have loved you, or else he wouldn't have loved Anna like he did, meaning that the answer to your tabooed question was just as you had feared.

Or so you thought.

Somehow it all turned around after that, somehow you managed to find happiness at the brink of despair. Today Hungary is all but a distant memory, buried deep under the good times and the laughter and the joys of finally having a family, after so many years of feeling alone. Because shortly after returning from Budapest, you and Harry got your act together at last, the whole experience coupled with another of your dangerous situations finally making you realize that life is far too short to dance around your feelings, to worry over the 'what ifs'. So you took a chance, the pair of you, risked your friendship on the basis that there was a chance you could have something more in addition. And that turned out to be the best decision you ever made.

_**You showed me how it feels to feel the sky within my reach,**_

_**And I always will remember all the strength you gave to me,**_

_**You'll have made me make it through; I owe so much to you,**_

_**You were right there for me.**_

14 years have passed since Hungary now, and you can honestly say that you've ever felt happier. You and Harry have been together for 13 ½ years, married for 6, and your daughter is getting so grown up that you're starting to wonder where all the time went, unsure of quite when you got so old. But that's OK. You have to admit that you had been a little terrified of the teenage years, not quite sure you would know how to handle inappropriate boyfriends and underage drinking and sneaking into nightclubs, but so far Joycelin has spared you from all that. She hasn't even gone all sullen teenager on you yet; the pair of you are just as close now as you were when she was still your little girl. You know you're lucky to have her, you'll never forget that, especially working with Leo and hearing about some of the things his own teenagers get up to. And Harry… life as Mrs Harry Cunningham is even better than you had ever dared to believe it could be. Almost 14 years down the line and your relationship is still and fresh and thrilling as it was at the start; you still love him unconditionally, still feel deeply loved in return. No, you have the perfect little family now, you, Harry, Joycelin, just like you feared you would never have back in that dreaded taxi 14 years ago. You haven't thought of Hungary in over a decade, and you have no plans of going back to that place, back to that loneliness and despair and that horrible, painful question which you still don't have an answer to. You don't let yourself think about that, not ever. At least, not until Budapest is woven into a conversation completely by accident, and suddenly the perfect little bubble in which you've been living for the last 13 ½ years is shattered. _That question_ breaks to the surface once more and drags Anna Sandor up with it, causing you to doubt, to worry, to fear. And suddenly you feel even more helpless than you did the first time around.


	3. Part 3

**Here's the next chapter, as promised. Big hugs to Heleni0, Charlotte88, Em, Amy and Lizzi for reviewing the last chapter, you guys are seriously amazing :) And please do let me know what you think of this one xx**

**Love Flossie xxx**

It's a Wednesday afternoon in late May, and you're deeply bored. It's your afternoon off and Harry, Leo and Janet are all still at work, Joycelin's at school, all the housework is done, you've finished reading Mansfield Park for the 6th time this year and now you're bored out of your mind. You've even planned out what you're cooking this evening, ironed Harry's shirts and begun a full-scale reorganisation of the chest of drawers in yours and Harry's bedroom. And that really _is_ a sign of boredom.

Three o' clock comes and you can't take any more clearing out Harry's half of the sock drawer so you text your daughter, telling her not to get the train home come 3.30; you'll come and pick her up. You hate driving through London at school pick-up time and you know you're only going to be ferrying her to and from her dance lesson this evening like some kind of shuttle service, but you're so lacking in something to do with yourself that somehow huge great traffic jams don't seem so bad. You're not expecting Harry back until much later and you're desperate for some company, something to do which doesn't involve tidying for the sake of tidying. And if that something to do involves driving halfway across West London during the end of school rush, then so be it.

"Hi Mum," your daughter greets you as she jumps into the car; the middle-aged parent in you notes that her skirt is too short for your liking. "How come you're picking me up?"

"Because I got bored of trying to pair up your dad's socks; half of them have holes in them anyway," you tell her, glancing across as she giggles. "So I decided I'd take a break from the obsessive tidying and come and collect you instead."

"You were really that bored?"

"Oh yes. How was your day, anyway?"

"It was good, I guess. Except for biology."

"Really?" Normally, biology is Joycelin's favourite subject; you guess she takes after her parents on that one. "What was wrong with biology?"

She pulls a face. "We spent a whole hour doing 'healthy eating'. Healthy eating isn't biology, it's common sense! Biology should be about DNA profiles and functions of bodily organs and bruising patterns and identifying different human bones and their features, like Harris lines, with a bit of behavioural patterns in animals on the side, not BMI indexes and food groups!"

Sometimes you wonder if Joycelin spends too much time at the Lyell Centre.

"I don't think you'll be learning about Harris lines until medical school, Josi," you laugh. "Although I'm sure your teacher appreciates your enthusiasm."

"No she doesn't," Joycelin pouts. "You know that. Last term you and Dad had to go and complain about the marking on my biology test, remember? The last question on the paper asked for an example of a condition which affects liver function, so I put Tetracynide poisoning and Mrs O'Connor didn't give me the mark!"

"Hey, we got you the mark in the end, didn't we? After we explained to Mrs O'Connor what Tetracynide actually was. I think she was looking for excessive drinking of alcohol, not toxic substances."

"Yes, but that's what everyone else was going to put because Mrs O'Connor only taught us about alcohol abuse, but that's really boring so I thought I'd add some variety. She's never liked me since then. I learn more coming into work with you and Dad than I ever do in her lessons."

"OK, so maybe your enthusiasm for biology isn't appreciated!" you give in, realizing that Joycelin is probably right; you don't think you learnt much in the South African equivalent of year 9 biology either. "But what about the rest of your lessons, how were they?"

"Good. Mum?"

"Hmm?" She's using that tone of voice which she only ever puts on when she wants something.

"Please could I go on the GCSE history trip next year?"

You remember reading something about last year's trip in the school newsletter; on a Soviet Occupation theme, you think. Last year the trip was to Prague, and you seem to remember the year before that was to Berlin. You wish that kind of thing had been on offer when you were at school.

"We'll have to discuss it with Dad, but I don't see why not," you reply, finally escaping the traffic lights and speeding off along the high street. "Where is it you're going?"

"Budapest," Joycelin tells you innocently, a hint of excitement in her voice. "In Hungary."

And suddenly you can't breathe. Suddenly your chest is tightening, you can't focus, you know your eyes need to be on the road but you can't keep them there; physically you're still there in the car but in your mind you're somewhere else, back in that taxi driving through Budapest, except it's not Harry who's dead this time, it's your daughter. You can see Joycelin lying across one of the mortuary slabs so clearly in your mind, you can see the lacerations to her body, she's pale, cold… god, you can't think about this, you can't do this to yourself, but that image just won't leave of your head, you can't breathe…

"Mum? Mum? Mum!"

You can hear your daughter's voice calling for you frantically, the worry and urgency in her voice forcing you back to reality. You manage to regain some control over yourself, to focus, straightening up just in time as you cut horribly close to veering off of the road.

"Mum?"

You know you're scaring her but you don't answer; you're almost home and terrified that should you stop to talk about what's freaked you out now, you won't make it back to the house. So you block it all out as you turn into your drive, your eyes firmly fixed on the road, your mind occupied by nothing but parking. But the moment you push down the brake and turn off the engine, the moment there's nothing else to distract yourself with, suddenly you're breaking down in tears, unable to control yourself any longer. You don't want Josi to see you like this, it's not fair on her, but you just can't seem to stop. You've spent the last 14 years bottling up your emotions where Hungary is concerned, not wanting to upset Harry, to remind him, and a small part of you afraid that he loved Anna more than he loves you, that had she not been brutally murdered you would have never stood a chance with the man you love. It all comes back to that dreaded and unanswered question.

"Mum? Mum, it's OK."

Your daughter seems to have recognised your panic attack for what it is; she's reaching out across the car now, pulling you into a hug. You cling to her, still sobbing, never wanting to let her go, especially after that hallucination. She's your baby, that's never going to change no matter how grown up and independent she gets, and you simply can't stand the thought of letting her go to _that country_, that place which holds so many agonisingly bad memories. But Joycelin doesn't know that. You've told each other everything over the years, the three of you: you, Harry, Joycelin. Sometimes you wonder if the pair of you tell her too much, but you have no doubt that it's sharing every detail of your lives which makes the three of you so close, keeps your relationship so strong. Joycelin knows about your father's abandonment of you and your own mother, your mother's death, Harry's father's death, your days at university, the various scrapes Harry managed to get himself into as a child. She knows about your work, your cases, she knows how you and Harry finally confessed your feelings to one another (though she tends to pull faces through that story). She knows the stories of her parents' lives inside and out, as you know hers. But there's one thing which you and Harry have never told her about, one thing which seems to have become taboo over the years, something which you and Harry have buried and your daughter remains oblivious to. And that's what happened in Hungary.

"Mum?"

You finally find the strength to open your eyes and see Joycelin watching you anxiously, holding out a tissue. You take it from her slowly, shakily, attempting to show your appreciation with a smile but not quite succeeding. You're freaking her out, you know that; Josi hasn't seen you lose it like this for a long, long time, and at least in the past she always knew what it was that had got you into a state. Now she's in the dark, and you know it's scaring her. She looks up at you with your mother's deep blue eyes, a perfect replica of the concerned look you remember from your childhood, and you fight to pull yourself together, to regain some control. You're supposed to be _her_ mother, not the other way round.

"Mum, what's wrong?" Joycelin asks, sensing that you've calmed down a little. "Has something happened? Are you OK?"

You breathe in and out slowly, composing yourself before finally answering her question, attempting to reassure her a little.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean to react like that, it's nothing, I just…"

"Mum, stop apologising!" your daughter insists, still stuck in a rather uncomfortable position as you won't let go of her, not yet, but she doesn't make a fuss. God, you really are lucky to have her.

"It can't be 'nothing' if you're this upset," Joycelin continues, watching you intently. "Did something happen in Hungary?" She always did have the ability to see right through you, even as a baby. "Is that why you're upset, because something happened there and you don't want me to go? Because I don't have to go, not if you're not comfortable with it."

_**In my dreams I'll always see you soar above the sky,**_

_**In my heart they'll always be a place for you, and for all my life**_

_**I'll keep a part of you with me,**_

_**And everywhere I am, there you'll be.**_

You don't know what you did to deserve such an understanding teenager, but you're definitely grateful. But your lift in mood is short lived as you wonder how on earth you're going to explain what happened in Hungary to your 13 year old, how you're going to tell her that the year she was born her father went to Budapest and got involved in something so dangerous that he had to fake his own death, that he was in Hungary in the first place to see his girlfriend, his girlfriend who wasn't you, wasn't her mother? That her life could have turned out completely different, that had her father's previous girlfriend not been murdered he would have been a father to another child, that he would have disappeared off to Hungary and never known her, never been her father? How could you possibly tell your daughter the truth about what happened in Budapest without mentioning Anna Sandor, without the dreaded question forcing itself back to the surface of your mind, without wondering who Harry would have chosen if Anna had survived? You can't, that's what. It can't be done. You can't both come out of this unscathed, that much is clear; if you tell Joycelin the truth then you'll cut those old scars right back open, but if you don't tell her then you'll shut her out, make her believe that you don't trust her, spark up feelings of anger and resentment. And you would much, much rather cause pain for yourself than your daughter.

And so you stay there for a few minutes, the two of you, clinging to each other a little tighter and taking comfort in each other's mere presence. Then you finally manage to pull yourself together, climbing out of the car and heading inside, promising your daughter that it's all over now, the thing which is upsetting you so much, that you'll tell her all about it once her father gets home. But you're not sure you can last too much longer, not when you still can't quite stop sniffing, so you text Leo, telling him that you know Harry is up to his eyes in work but please can you have him home ASAP, you're having a family crisis. Joycelin texts one of her friends saying that she won't be coming to the dance lesson or whatever it was she was supposed to be going to, and the two of you spread yourselves out across the living room floor with Joycelin's maths homework, the numbers and the logic and the knowing that there will always be an answer as reassuring to you now as it was when you were a child. Then you progress to French, you frantically searching your rusty vocabulary and Joycelin laughing at your attempts. And when you're finished the pair of you curl up on the sofa together in front of your well-worn Pride and Prejudice DVD, waiting, anticipating. Waiting for the truth to be told.

Harry arrives home a short while later, a look of worry and panic on his face. "What's happened?" he wants to know. So you send Joycelin off in search of the takeaway menus- there's no way you're going to be up to cooking tonight- and whilst she's gone you explain the afternoon's events.

"We have to tell her, Harry," you sigh, knowing it's not the answer he wants to hear but knowing at the same time that there's no way of avoiding it. "It's not fair to keep her in the dark, not after the way I freaked out on her today. We have to tell her."

He pauses for a moment, pondering, and for a moment you're terrified that he's not going to agree with you; you're not sure how your daughter would react if you refused to tell her why you reacted so extremely to the mere mention of Budapest, but you're willing to bet it wouldn't be pretty. But then Harry sighs and nods and takes your hand gently, leading you back into the living room, the pair of you sitting down either side of your daughter, her eyes wide and scared and full of questions. Questions which you're going to have to answer.

"A long time ago," Harry begins, his voice shaking just a little, "Before you were born, before your mum and me got together, I met a woman called Anna Sandor. She was Hungarian; we met at a conference in Amsterdam, and we… we started dating. Well…" he blushes a furious shade of scarlet; you know he wasn't exactly planning on having a conversation about this kind of thing with his teenage daughter. "A little more than dating. Anyway, Anna was a lawyer in Budapest, she campaigned for women's rights…"

You try not to listen as Harry continues to tell the story, try to block out his words, the reminders of that horrible period in your life, the hopelessness, the fear. The tale seems to go on for eternity, but at last Harry stops, gets to the point at which the two of you boarded the plane home, along with Leo.

"And a few months later I was born," Joycelin finishes, looking up at her father questionably. "Is that right?"

"Well, it was a little more complicated than that, but yes, a few months later you were born and your mum and I finally worked out what was under our noses," Harry concludes. There's no need to go into detail about her birth; that's a story Joycelin knows only too well.

"And that's why I went into a complete panic when you mentioned Budapest, sweetheart," you sigh, pulling your daughter into a hug. "It's not that I don't think it'll be a fantastic experience, I'm sure it will. It's just…"

"You don't think you could bear to let me go to Hungary after what happened to Dad last time?" Joycelin finishes for you. "I don't blame you! I wouldn't let me go to Hungary if I were you!"

"So you won't be angry if we don't let you go?" you ask her, almost hopefully.

She looks almost shocked. "No, of course not! But the trip's during the Easter holidays, so if I don't go then I can come into work with you, right?"

You roll your eyes and laugh, despite everything. "Well, that's what you've done every Easter holiday for the past 8 years, isn't it? Why break the pattern now?"

The rest of the evening turns out much better than you expected. You settle for an Indian off the takeaway menu and crash out on the sofa, Harry checking your half of Josi's French homework over and remarking that he's finally found something you can't do. You roll your eyes at him and tell him that French wasn't on the South African school curriculum so you had to pick it up for GCSE when you came to England and never really got the hang of it. In other words it's a completely normal evening; you and Harry teasing one another, Joycelin trying to persuade you both to let her buy a pair of 5 inch heels before her latest crush's birthday party next weekend on the basis that she's still only just 5 foot tall and showing no signs of growing any time soon, all three of you arguing light heartedly over the last vegetable samosa. It feels normal, relaxed, happy, and some of the hurt and fear inside you fades away by the time you've packed Joycelin off to bed. But only some. Because along with the memories of Hungary, the dreaded question from that day 14 years ago in the back of the taxi, back when you still believed Harry was dead, has pushed itself back to the front of your mind, refusing to leave you alone. Would he have left to be with Anna in Budapest, left his old life behind, left you? Have the last 13 ½ years been second best to him; he couldn't have the woman he truly loved and her child so he settled for you and Josi instead? You know you can't do this to yourself, can't start doubting everything that's been your life for the past 13 ½ years, but now you've opened up that Pandora's Box of fear and doubt once more there's no going back. You need to know the answer but you don't want to hear that your fears are true. You don't want to ask Harry that question, don't want him to be put in a difficult position, don't want him to think you're weak. So what on earth are you supposed to do?

You know what you have to do deep down, of course. You have to keep quiet, to carry on as if nothing's happened. But that's much, much easier said than done. Every little thing is worrying you now, you realize, and you don't seem to be able to stop yourself. Like when Harry finally comes up to bed almost an hour behind you, having spent the evening finalizing a report, slipping into bed quietly, sprawled out across his side of the bed, just a little out of reach. Anyone else wouldn't think anything of it, but Harry has slept in exactly the same position almost every night you've spent together over the past 13 ½ years, and it's not this one. Almost always he'll sleep snuggled up behind you in a spooning position, enveloping you in his arms, in a warm, comforting embrace, his chin resting on the crown of your head, pulling you into that position even if you're flat out asleep. But not tonight. Tonight he doesn't seem to want to touch you, to even be near you, throwing one of the pillows to the side so that it lies between you both like a barrier, keeping you away from him now he doesn't want you there. You know deep down that it's just because it's hot, because the pair of you will overheat, that the placement of the pillow was accidental and Harry would be mortified if he knew how you're feeling right now, but after the events of the evening your mind is running away with you. What if he's shying away from you because all this talk of Anna has reminded him of how much he loved her, of how she was his first choice to settle down with, not you? He just doesn't know how to tell you.

You wait until you're certain Harry is fast asleep before you slip out of bed, making your way downstairs and curling up alone on the sofa, staring out at the moonlit garden. You don't want to disturb him by staying awake all night, and you know there's no chance of you getting any sleep. The way you feel now, you're not sure you'll ever be able to sleep again.


	4. Part 4

**Final part :) Sorry it's been so long, I've been away, hopefully it'll be worth the wait. Please let me know the verdict! :)**

**Love Flossie xxx**

You wake up at 5 the following morning, having drifted in and out of sleep all night spending more time wide awake and worrying than actually getting some rest, and now you're exhausted. But you also know that there's no chance of getting any more sleep so you drag yourself off of the sofa, shivering a little in spite of the May heat. Sighing, you pull the curtains in an attempt to wake yourself up. It doesn't work. So you tiptoe up the stairs as quietly as you can, doing your best not to wake Harry and Josi, who are almost certainly still fast asleep. You pad softly across the carpet into your bedroom, stopping momentarily at Harry's side of the bed, watching him sleep. He looks so peaceful, so content… and you're not there with him. It's not that you don't want to be; you want nothing more right now than to be snuggled up in Harry's arms, without a care in the world just like he is now. And yet you can't make yourself climb in, not now those fresh seeds of doubt have been planted in your mind, can't escape from that prominent fear of being second best, the one he settled for because he couldn't have Anna Sandor. You can't make this a habit without destroying your relationship, your marriage, for good and you know that, sooner or later you're going to have to either confront the matter head on or get over yourself, accept that maybe the happiness you have now _is_ thanks to Anna's death, that maybe you are second choice, second best, but does it really matter? Anna Sandor has been dead and buried for 14 years now, her child and the alternative family Harry could have had buried with her; does it really matter after all this time?

'But it does', a nagging voice in the back of your mind is telling you, refusing to let the subject drop, to let you banish these thoughts away to the back of your mind once more and continue living in denial, ignoring the issue as you did before. 'It does matter, that's why you've gotten yourself in such a state over it, why you can't seem to move on from Hungary. You thought you had, but you haven't, Josi proved that and she didn't even realize. You can't live the rest of your life like this; it's not fair on Harry, not fair on your daughter. You've got to pull yourself together, for their sakes.'

You wait there a couple of minutes longer watching Harry as he continues to sleep, sighing softly as you run through the options in your head. Either you can get over yourself and clamber into bed beside him, push the doubts to the back of your mind and accept things for what they are, or you can talk your fears through with Harry, seek some answers. No… that's what you've got to do, it's the only solution. You're going to have to talk to him… but not now. Not now, you can't do this now. Not now, you can't do this now. You're going to have to pick your moment, wait until Josi's out the house, until it's just the two of you and you'll be able to run and find a quiet corner in which to compose yourself if and when the answer isn't what you wanted. Harry won't tell you outright that he would have given up everything- you included- for Anna, you know that, but you'll be able to see it in his eyes, hear in his voice that he's lying to protect you. You don't know how you're going to react to seeing that horrible truth in his expression and that's why you have to pick your moment, ask your question when it's just the two of you around, alone. That way, the truth doesn't have to be your daughter's burden too.

And so with your mind made up, you sigh feebly and make your way over to the wardrobe, running through your schedule for the day as you decide what to wear. You're at the Lyell centre in the morning, then back home for the afternoon… you should probably attempt to tame the garden a little, do a food shop, brave the apocalypse of the attic in search of your great-grandfather's box of mementos from World War I for Josi's history project (you think poor Mr Turner was expecting tales of the trenches and the French countryside rather than the South-West Africa campaign, but so what?)… You settle for a flowery dress and cardigan and unhang them, draping them over your arm and grabbing some underwear, heading off to the bathroom for a shower, hoping that a blast of cold water will shock some sense into you, make you forget all about Hungary and Anna and doubts and fears about your relationship with Harry. It doesn't.

_**Because I always saw in you my light, my strength,**_

_**And I want to thank you now for all the ways that you were right there for me.**_

You linger in the shower much longer than usual, finally emerging from the bathroom a full hour later and sticking your head around your bedroom door to see if Harry's awake yet. But he's clearly still fast asleep, so you towel dry your hair and pin it back before heading downstairs to make yourself a coffee. You feel drained somehow, emotionally drained, as if all your energy has been sapped from you leaving just a shell behind, unable to function. _Oh, get over yourself, Nikki. Have you really let yourself become that dependent on Harry? _ You are dependent on him, you know that much, you have been for years. He holds you together at the best of times, makes you feel loved, wanted, needed. You owe him the world for that, even if it has all been a replacement for the family life he was meant to have. You know for certain that you wouldn't have had a hope of making it through some of the trials and tests of the last few years without him.

It's another hour before Harry and your daughter surface, another half an hour after that before Joycelin heads off to school and it's you and Harry alone in the house. _Ask him, Nikki. Talk to him, let him in. Ask him. _

You try. You really, really do. But you just can't pluck up the courage, not when he's so happy, so oblivious to your pain. Harry is preoccupied with gathering together his paperwork for his Fitness to Plead Hearing this afternoon, then the moment he's got it all sorted and you start to psyche yourself up to pose that horrible question, suddenly he's fussing over Josi's hamster, worrying that it's looking thin and shaky and it might be on its way out. You hope you sounded convincingly sympathetic. When you're having a panic about life as you've known it for the last 13 ½ years, it's rather difficult to feel concerned for a Mongolian hamster less than 8cm long and already exceeding its life expectancy by 3 years.

And so it doesn't happen, the talk between you. You barely see Harry all day, and come night time you retreat to the sofa once more, terrified of feeling unwanted, unloved. Harry's been looking at you strangely since the Hungary discussion on Wednesday evening, but he hasn't mentioned why and you can't face asking- it seems to be fast becoming the elephant in the room. And in your mind, the situation seems to be spiralling further and further out of control by the second.

In the end, you last until Saturday night. It's the first Saturday of June which means that Joycelin's at Leo and Janet's for the night: every first weekend of a month Leo and Janet take your daughter for Saturday night, every second you and Harry take their offspring, allowing each couple to have at least one 'date night' per month; it's been your arrangement for as long as you can remember. Normally, you and Harry would use your teenager-free weekend to go out for dinner or spend the night making love without the danger of being interrupted, but after a difficult week at the Lyell Centre Harry suggested simply crashing on the sofa in front of a film, and you, feeling insecure already and emotionally worn out after the week you've had, couldn't find the strength to argue. And so you let Harry choose the film and sat down at one end of the sofa, losing yourself in an old comedy film which you're really not finding funny, with part of you waiting longingly for him to wrap his arms around you and pull you across his lap as he's done each time you've watched a film together since you can remember, but another part of you filled with dread and fear, fear that it's not going to happen, that everything you've come to rely on and live for over the past few years is going to come crashing down around you. It's almost overwhelming. Until suddenly you feel a slight pressure on your shoulders; Harry is pulling you into his arms, cradling you to his chest. All of a sudden your heart floods with emotion, with relief, anticipation, the last dregs of fear and an all-consuming desire for a simple hug to fix everything, even though you realized a long, long time ago that life isn't that simple. And before you have a chance to stop yourself, you've broken down into loud, noisy, uncontrollable tears, clinging to Harry as if your life depends on it and yet you're not entirely sure why. Because he's here? Because he's yours, because maybe, just maybe, his rejecting you this week was all just in your head, a figment of your imagination stemming from your own insecurities? Maybe. But that still doesn't answer your question, and for the time being, can't make you feel any better.

_**In my dreams I'll always see you soar above the sky,**_

_**In my heart they'll always be a place for you, and for all my life,**_

_**I'll keep a part of you with me,**_

_**And everywhere I am, there you'll be.**_

"Nikki?"

Harry's voice is laced with concern and shock, one hand caressing your back and the other resting gently on your cheek as he wipes away your tears.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He's asking you again, pulling you upright slowly until you're sat on his lap, turning you around until you're forced to look right into his eyes, unable to hide anymore. You want to tell him, really you do, but you're starting to hyperventilate now, working yourself into a state; you can't find the words, can't string them together. You bet Anna never broke down like this, not in the 8 weeks she and Harry knew each other, not in her whole life.

"Nikki, come on." Harry's voice is firm but reassuring, comforting you a little. "Come on, it's alright." He's grown used to your blind panic attacks over the years, learned how best to handle you when you get yourself into this sort of state, much to your embarrassment.

"I'm here," he tells you softly, your heart melting a little at his tenderness, his understanding, even though he hasn't the faintest idea what's wrong. "I'm here, Nikki, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong."

You sigh, wiping your eyes furiously and trying to compose yourself as you realize that there's no getting out of this now; Harry's not going to let you off the hook, and you can hardly blame him. You know you wouldn't let the subject drop until you knew what was wrong were it Harry or Joycelin in a state.

"It's… complicated," you try to explain, sighing again as you lean back against his chest. How on earth are you going to do this without sounding aggressive, as if you're accusing him?

"Well, I gathered that," Harry says gently, motioning for you to continue, but stopping when he sees the look on your face. "Oh Nikki, come on, you've been acting strange ever since Hungary came up, distant, withdrawn, however hard you might have tried to hide it. But it's all over, now. It's all over now, and I swear, I'm never going to do that to you again, never let you think… you know, no matter how bad things get. You know that, don't you?"

You just nod, still clinging to him tightly. It occurs to you now that maybe it hasn't been Harry not wanting to be near you, more you being afraid to let him come close, "I know. It's not that. Harry?" Your voice is shaking slightly, overcome with fear now that you're finally posing the question, the question you've been needing an answer to for 14 years now, even if you haven't quite realized it until recently. Just do it, Nikki. _Pull yourself together and get it over with._

"Harry, when…" you begin, stopping and breathing deeply, determined not to break down in tears once more. "Sorry."

"Nikki, you've got nothing to apologise for," Harry insists, pulling you in closer, protecting you against a multitude of evils. "Take your time, OK? I'm here."

But curling up in his arms can't protect you from your emotional torment, and so you muster up all the strength you can, opening the Pandora's Box of fears deep within your heart, leaving you exposed, vulnerable, afraid. Terrified of his answer.

"When you went to Hungary," you try again, refusing to give up this time until the whole question has been posed. "To… to see Anna, and you didn't know she was pregnant…"

"Hmm." Harry is watching you closely; you can't quite gage the expression on his face. "Where's this going?"

"Well, she was going to tell you, but then she… she was murdered," you sigh, knowing you're dragging up a whole host of traumatic memories for Harry and feeling immensely guilty. "But if nothing went wrong, if no one broke in and… and… anyway, if she'd told you that you were going to be a father, that the two of you were going to be parents…" _Breathe, Nikki, breathe, don't bottle out no_w. "What would you have done?" Your voice sounds almost pleading, pleading with him to give you the answer you want to hear, even though deep down you know that you only want the truth, especially after all these years. "You loved her, I know that, and that's OK, but… would you have… would you have moved out there? I mean, Anna was never going to want to come and live in London, was she, and I know how much you wanted a family after Niall, I know you loved Anna, I know this, us, would never have happened if she hadn't…"

"Nikki…"

But you can't stop; you've been waiting for this moment for so long, planning out what you were going to say with military precision, but suddenly you can't control yourself and everything comes gushing out like some form of emotional turrets.

"It's OK, I just, I just want to know whether, whether you would have chosen to… it doesn't matter, I…"

"Nikki-"

"You don't have to apologise, it's perfectly normal to want to settle for someone else to have a family with, I shouldn't really be asking you this, I know that, I'm sorry…"

"Nikki!" He's shouting your name now, shaking your shoulders slightly as if trying to force some sense into you. "Oh Nikki, you don't really want me to answer that, you?"

"Yes, I do!" you retort tearfully, convinced in your addled state that he's avoiding your question because he knows you won't like the answer. "Harry, please! I just want to know the answer, I want to know if…" you stop, realizing that it's really not fair to make Harry answer that. "No, I'm sorry, I…"

"If what?" Harry presses gently, his hands on either side of your face as he turns your head to face him, meeting your eyes as he begins to wipe away your tears once more. "Come on, Nikki, if something's bothering you this much then we need to talk about it."

You just shake your head. "No, we don't. I'm just being selfish Harry, I'm sorry. It's… it's outrageous for me to expect to be the first person you ever loved, I…"

And then Harry seems to finally slot all the puzzle pieces together, to realize what's been bothering you, to see the bigger picture. Seems to finally understand, to see everything you've tried so hard to hid this past week, everything you had buried post Hungary, never quite managing to escape from. And the compassion, the tenderness in his eyes is slowly reassuring you. Allowing you to believe that maybe, just maybe, this might all turn out alright after all.

"Oh Nikki," he sighs, "That's where you're wrong."

That wasn't what you were expecting to hear.

"Hmm?"

"That's where you're wrong," Harry repeats. "When you say that I loved Anna, that you're not the first person I fell in love with. I thought I knew what love was, Nikki, I thought I was in love with Anna. But I can tell you honestly that I never felt the same way about her as I do about you, not towards Anna, not towards anyone. I didn't even realize it was possible to be so in love," he says softly, and you have to smile at the cheesiness of it all, in spite of everything.

"It's funny," Harry continues, laying down across the sofa and dragging you down with him. "It took me a while to make peace with myself, over the whole Anna thing, I mean. I felt guilty for a while, guilty that I'd moved on, that I felt so much happier with you than I could ever have been with her, guilty that I had you and Josi, a replacement family, almost. But then I realized that it all worked out for the best. You're right, Nikki, Anna wouldn't have wanted to come to London, I would have ended up moving out to Budapest, for her sake, for the baby's. And maybe I would have been happy, I don't know. But I would have missed you like crazy, Nikki. I would have missed you so, so much, even if it was still in the role of merely best friend. I barely even knew Anna, but I knew you inside out, still do. And there's no way I could have been truly happy without you. And that's why I think it was meant to happen, the whole thing with Anna. Not that I wanted her to die, of course I didn't, but in some ways she made way for my family now, for you, for Josi. It took nearly gaining a family by accident to make me realize how much I wanted to be with you, and I suppose in that sense she didn't die in vain. I'll always be grateful to her for that in a funny sort of way, and I'll never forget her, forget our baby, but it's you I love, Nikki. It's you and Josi that I love, and don't you dare ever go thinking that you're second best to a family I almost had by accident with someone I didn't even know, you promise? You've never been that. I wouldn't change one moment of the last 13 years with you Nikki Alexander, not one. I love you, not Anna, not Penny, not anyone else. You. And no amount of rekindled memories of Hungary can ever possibly change that."

You're speechless for a moment. You want to thank him, to tell him just how much he means to you, to express your gratitude to him for wiping away your fears in one swift, perfectly honest stroke, for assuring you that this is the life he wanted, the family he loves, not another he lost long ago that only came into existence by accident. But you can't find the words. And so you settle for leaning in to kiss him passionately, finally content, knowing that this action can speak a thousand words. Because the weight of that horrible fear has been lifted at last, your 14 year old question met with the best answer you could possibly have hoped for and laid to rest, your relationship with the man you love stronger than it was before, or so it seems. And you're no longer afraid.

_**I'll keep a part of you with me,**_

_**And everywhere I am, there you'll be.**_

_**There you'll Be, Faith Hill**_


End file.
